The light fell on us and you noticed how I had dropped the eye/I to see without a maze of mirrors I used to write "you and I" [self-reference is for famous poets?] with regard to a Pozzo and a Lucky, but as the language decreed, the twigs had snapped into the baritone of the firewood. yet I seem to think there is a little bit of "we" about us in the bite of the fire-- we are together in chaos, if not order.
And they spread across my momentary page
with their feet deep in the wet grass
and they point their hands in the sky,
the rays are always sunset-orange,
looking over the field,
the river of blood
of their forefathers
flowing under their ground,
and they say
and they repeat,
someone must endure
for the debts of this world
to be freed.